


Arabella Speaks

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU of my own AU, Gen, M/M, empath!John, experiments in empathy adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets a young empath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arabella Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for this prompt from Random-Nexus: Empath!John ficlets are ALWAYS awesome. If you need ideas(?) - What if on a case they discovered a youth or child who is an empath similar to John? Maybe in danger because s/he could tell who a murderer was without actually visually witnessing the crime?
> 
> It... sort of fits the prompt. 
> 
> Thank you to Random for the prompt! I had fun with this. Previously posted to my tumblr, in case you've already seen this.
> 
> This is not part of the empath!verse as a whole. It's an AU of my own AU. I don't think I could manage to write Arabella very often, and to be honest she doesn't really fit into the overall arc of the main universe. So... consider this an offshoot. Yanno, AU wherein everything is the same except for John meeting another empath who happens to be a pre-adolescent girl.

“We didn’t know what else to do while we’re waiting, so I called you,” Greg says as he crosses the crime scene to where Sherlock and John are stood.

Sherlock scowls at the crime scene being wrapped up behind the detective inspector. “This is utterly obvious, Lestrade. Even you should be able to solve this one.”

Greg scowls right back at him. “Which is why I called John, and not you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinks at him, and John has to bite his lip to keep from giggling out loud.

“We can’t take a statement from her without her mum present at the very least, and we can’t take her in because that would just be a mess, but I need to know how she knows what she’s telling me she knows, and she won’t tell me how she knows.”

“Was that supposed to make sense?” Sherlock drawls. Now he’s just being petty. John can feel it, and he looks it, with that frown tugging the corners of his mouth down, and his arms crossed defensively across his chest. He sends a tendril of admonishment along their link, just a hint of ‘Sherlock, stop being ridiculous and petty, please’, and Sherlock pouts at him for a moment before uncrossing his arms.

“Hush,” John admonishes aloud; he softens it with a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back, with another tendril of love sent along. He looks back to Greg. “Where is she?”

“This way.” Greg gestures down the street and ducks under the crime scene tape. “We’ve got her sat in the cafe over the road with a constable while we’re wrapping things up. Don’t want her seeing any more than she already has. She’s only a kid.”

Lestrade leads them down the street towards the cafe.

“Why did you think I’d be able to help?” John asks. He’s genuinely curious. He can feel Lestrade’s certainty on this, and John has found that he can usually trust Lestrade’s instincts, especially when it comes to matters psychic.

Which is odd, considering how seldom they come into contact with other psychics. John can think of two off the top of his head, other than himself, and he doesn’t think Greg had the misfortune of ever meeting Moran, he’d only seen him from afar.

“She looks at us the way you do sometimes,” Greg replies. He shrugs, as though he can’t explain it further. “It’s something in the eyes.”

John can feel it immediately when they walk into the cafe, and the little girl whose head jerks up, her eyes the size of saucers, only confirms that she feels it too.

She’s an empath.

\----

John has to assure the young constable sitting with the girl that he only wishes to speak with her for a few moments, not that he’s going to take advantage or a statement or anything like that. 

Eventually, she looks across the cafe to Lestrade, who nods his confirmation, and then at the girl, who shrugs. She’s still staring at John with wide, surprised eyes. The constable gives a shrug of her own, stands and leaves the table. She hovers nearby, just close enough that John is aware she’s there.

He sits, folds his hands together on the table, and smiles a little at the young girl. 

“I’m John,” he says.

“Airy,” she replies.

“Is that short for something?”

She scowls. “Arabella.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“You can say that because your name is normal. Mine’s from Harry Potter.”

“Did your mum name you after someone from Harry Potter?”

“She says it’s a family name, but I don’t believe her.”

John chuckles. 

“You’re like me,” she says. She has a shrewd look in her eye. This girl is clever, observant. But then, empathy tends to make one observant, at least in John’s experience.

“Am I?”

“You can feel what other people feel.” The look in her eyes dares him to deny it.

“Yes,” John says simply. Then he adds, “I’ve only ever met one other person who can do this.”

“You’re the first one I’ve met. Mum says--” she cuts herself off, frowning and staring at the cup of tea in front of her.

“What does your mum say?”

“Probably shouldn’t tell you.”

“Okay,” John agrees. He doesn’t want to push, and he knows she can feel that.

She looks at him closely, watching, waiting.

“Do you live around here?”

“Just over the road,” she confirms, but doesn’t offer further information. Smart kid.

“Where are your mum and dad?”

“Mum’s at work. Dad’s dead.”

“I’m sorry. My mum died when I was young, too.”

“Did she kill herself?”

Well, that confirms that; John’s almost certain she inherited her empathy from her father. “Yes,” John answers.

She blinks at him, surprised. Surprised he’d answered, he thinks. “Was your mum like us?”

“Yes. Was your dad?”

“I’m pretty sure he was, but mum won’t say. She doesn’t like to talk about him too much, it makes her sad. She tries not to be, ‘cause it makes me sad. I don’t remember him much.”

John nods. “Can you make her not-sad?”

She thinks for a moment. “No. I can make her sleep, though. I help her sleep sometimes, at night, when she’s having trouble.”

John takes that in. Interesting. 

“Can you make people feel things?” she asks. 

John shrugs. “Yes, but I don’t do it very much. It’s not right, yeah?”

She nods. “I wouldn’t do it much either. People should feel what they feel. I only help mum sleep if she asks me to. She has trouble sometimes, when she’s sad.”

“That’s a good policy,” John agrees.

She smiles, and for a few moments they’re quiet. The waitress comes over with a cup of coffee for John, and he smiles at her. 

The girl is the one who breaks the silence. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asks.

John knows who she’s talking about without even turning around. “Husband, actually.”

She frowns a little, in thought John thinks. “He’s… pointy.” She makes a gesture not unlike some of Sherlock’s with one hand, and John smiles.

“He can be, yes. I’ve got used to it. He’s rather bright and beautiful underneath the pointiness, though.”

“He loves you a lot.”

“I know.”

“The detective seems all right.”

“He is. He knows about me. He has people in his family, who can do stuff sort of like us.”

“I figured he knew when he didn’t just tell me to get lost. But I can’t trust regular people much.”

“That’s understandable. Most people don’t believe in folks like us. Can you keep yourself from feeling what other people feel?”

She shrugs. “Some. It doesn’t always work.”

John nods. “It’s harder, around people your age.”

“Kids, you mean?”

“Yes. Young people’s emotions tend to be very strong.”

She snorts. “Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I have a look? I won’t go any further, I promise.” John holds out his hand.

“You can do that?”

“You probably can, too. See if you can see the wall in my head while I look at the wall in your head, all right?”

Slowly, she lifts her hand from her lap and stretches it across the table, placing it gently in John’s. He only needs a moment to see the small wall she’s managed to cobble together, and he pulls back quickly, not eager to invade her privacy. John knows from experience the sense of privacy being privy to the emotions of everyone around you gives a person. He has no more wish to pry than he imagines she does.

“Wow,” she says, pulling her hand back into her lap. “You built that?”

“You can, too. It just takes work, and concentration.”

“Mum’s been helping me meditate lately. It helps me let stuff go, and not feel like I’m sinking all the time.”

“I’d like to speak to your mum, actually. I think I can help you with that.”

“Did someone help you?”

“My Gran did. She was sort of like us. She could read minds.”

“Cool.” 

“She taught me how to build the wall in my head. I can teach you, if you want, and if your mum is okay with it.”

Arabella nods. “I don’t want to end up like my dad.”

“No, definitely not. So, can I tell the detective inspector why you told him what you did?”

She nods again, slowly. “Will I get in trouble?”

John shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He already has the bad guy arrested.”

“So I didn’t really help?”

“I think you helped him, but they’ll be using the physical evidence to convict the man.”

“That’s okay, I guess.”

John smiles. “When is your mum home?”

“Pretty soon.”

“All right. We’ll talk to Greg, and then you can call your mum and we’ll talk to her about helping you out. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to meet Sherlock? He’s getting impatient back there.”

“His name is Sherlock?!”

John laughs.


End file.
